


Cry For Me

by fvckingavengers



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvckingavengers/pseuds/fvckingavengers
Summary: Idk - this was a therapeutic way for me to deal with a breakup. It’s an angsty smut fic inspired by my dipshit ex.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 19
Kudos: 151





	Cry For Me

Every night is the same.

Vivid dreams of what once was. Thoughts of what should still be.

_His hands are everywhere on your body and they burn on your flesh. Tangling in your hair, gripping your ass and squeezing your tits. His lips are soft on your throat as he kisses and mumbles sweet things. Your heartbeat matches that of a humming bird’s. Pounding in your chest until you’re almost at the brink of death because it’s all just too much._

Then you jolt awake.

The bed is vast and empty. Cold. Tears prick at the back of your eyes and your heart breaks a little more from the cruelty of your unconscious mind. You grab the extra unused pillow and clutch it like a life source, use it to muffle the sound of your sobs.

_“I still love you. I’m always going to love you.”_

_“I’m too messed up. You deserve more. Deserve better.”_

_“I need to work on myself. I need to do that without you.”_

Those words ring in your ears and it still makes your blood boil. You gave him the world and then some. Would’ve done anything for him. And while you’re wide awake in the dead of night, wallowing in your sorrow, he’s probably sleeping soundly.

Bastard.

——

The day he brought a new girl around was like a blow to the chest. You weren’t prepared. It knocked the wind out of you and you could taste bile in the back of your tongue, bitter and acidic.

A pretty little bottle blonde with fake tits and a mouth that resembled Angelina Jolie that she paid for with her daddy’s credit card. The farthest thing from his type. The complete opposite of you.

The setting is far too familiar. Stark’s penthouse. Nightfall and dim lighting. Champagne flutes being passed around and a nice sized bar set up in the back. You forgot Tony’s reasoning behind this particular party, but you were double fisting a vodka rocks and tequila chaser - so you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

You make eye contact. His piercing blue eyes are unmistakable even from the far side of the room. Your heart plunges into the pit of your stomach when you notice her hanging onto him.

“Hey,” Sam greets, a sheepish smile on his face. He looks over his shoulder in the direction you’re fixated on and shakes his head. “You’re a million times prettier, just so you know. Some guys like that whole Playboy Bunny look - never thought he was one of ‘em.” He scoffs.

“Maybe that’s why he did away with me.” You force a smile and give a one shouldered shrug, trying to make light of your accusation, but there’s still a bite to your words.

You lose your reservation when you hear him speak your name. His voice is raspy and a little rough. Like he hadn’t used it for an extended time.

You clear your throat and spare a glance at him. He still leaves you breathless and your heart breaks a little more, despite you not believing it was possible.

“Buck.” You nod.

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he takes you in. The scent of you fills his nostrils and it’s familiar. He’s taken back to a time when you were his.

“You look good.”

“I know.” You reply without skipping a beat. “You look…” As you try to think of a word, his new infatuation comes over to sling herself on his arm. Bucky stiffens. Forces a laugh when she whispers something in his ear. “Happy.” You sigh. “I hope you are.”

You lie through your teeth. You know it. Bucky knows it. Even Sam who stands off to the side, watching the whole awkward exchange take place knows it.

“Excuse me, will you?” You snag a tall glass of champagne from one of the waiters aimlessly strolling around the party and chug it until it’s empty. “Looks like I need a refill.”

Your heels click aggressively on the polished marble floor as you make your way to the far side of the bar. You keep your eyes low, on the hands of the bartender making a fresh drink.

“Was that whole interaction as painful as it was to witness?” Tony asks, pulling up the barstool next to yours and taking a seat. When you don’t answer, he shrugs and reaches over to gently squeeze your shoulder. “Look, I tried to tell you, kid. Don’t get involved with teammates. Anyone you work with, for that matter. If you don’t shit where you eat then you won’t get food poisoning.”

“You and Pepper just make it look so easy.” Though your tone is dull and flat, he picks up on the sass. “It’s been two months. Never thought he’d be so good at moving on.” You look up at the seemingly happy couple across the room and sip from the cup in front of you. “Never thought he’d parade someone new in front of me like that, either. But he’s great at proving me wrong.”

“I give it one - two weeks tops. She doesn’t look like the kind that can hang with ourcrew.” Tony shrugs and pecks the top of your head before leaving you at the bar to talk to his other guests.

**

You were livid.

The jet engine rumbles loudly in your ears and vibrates beneath you. Your knuckles turn white from the vice grip you have on the controls. You’d been flying for hours and you still have three more to go until you reach your location.

Madrid this time of year is gorgeous - so you’ve been told. Although you’re being sent there for work, you usually make time to enjoy the sights of the destinations you get to go to. This time, you can’t wait to get back to Syracuse.

Bucky clears his throat and looks at you timidly. He can sense your anger and that gives you a sense of satisfaction.

“You can switch on the autopilot, you know.”

You set your jaw and slowly turn your head to face him. He cowers from your glare and looks away from the daggers you shoot in his direction.

_“You two are the best option for this kind of mission. You work well together and your skill sets match when it comes down to it. There’s no negotiating your way out of this, so go pack up.”_ Fury’s voice replays in the back of your mind when you think over how you were put in this position to begin with.

If you focus hard enough, if you keep your eyes on the vastness of the sky, you can almost forget he’s there. Until he says your name.

You tense visibly. You don’t look at him. Just hum in response.

“You have to talk to me sometime. We could be on this mission for a little while, we need to communicate—“

“I’ll talk to you when I have something to say.” Your tone is cold. Harsh. Something he’s not used to. “We’re here for work. The only reason we’re in the same vicinity is because we have a job to do. And the only reason we will converse is if it’s about the mission.” Your teeth bite into your lip to keep it from quivering. You inhale deeply through your nose and release it slowly before speaking again. “Is that understood?”

Bucky swallows thickly. You can hear it from a foot away. “Understood.”

—

You don’t sleep.

It’s been five days. The apartment rented out to you is nice. Top floor. Spacious. Crisp white walls decorated with fine art. Furnished with plush couches and chairs. Memory foam mattresses.

Tony must have had something to do with it. An attempt to cushion the blow.

Still. He’s too close for comfort.

The nightlife is heard from seventeen stories up. It’s impressive. The music is lively and beautiful. But it taunts you. Keeping you up, not letting you escape the thoughts in your own head.

Your feet drag you out of the room before your brain can process. The small living room is dark, illuminated only by the dim street light outside the building. You plop down on a chair beside the drink cart by the window and grab the first bottle within your reach.

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you bring the bottle to your lips and pour the alcohol into your mouth. It’s thin, but burns like hell. Vodka. Potent with a sting that lingers in your throat.

It’s welcomed. A different pain to mask the one that’s made home in your chest for months.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Bucky speaks in the dark, making you jump out of your skin.

“Jesus, James.” You scold, reaching over and turning on the lamp between the chair and the sofa he lounges on. He sits slumped. Hair pulled into a low bun at the nape of his neck. Bottle of Guinness between his legs, five empty ones scattered across the coffee table.

Bucky huffs, the softest chuckle emitted through closed lips. “So I’ve been demoted to ‘James’ now?” He peers at you beneath his eyelashes and picks at the lint on his black sweatpants. “When did that happen?”

You taste blood on the tip of your tongue. You’ve bitten into the meat of it to sedate yourself as you look him over. His grey t-shirt hugs his body so tightly that you can make out the pillows of his pectorals through the cloth.

“I never speak your name. It’s a new development.” You shrug, taking a large gulp of the clear liquid, wincing when it seeps into the fresh cut in your mouth.

He frowns at your reply. Lowers his gaze to his lap and scratches at the label on his beer with his thumbnail. There’s a deafening silence in the room that lasts long enough for you to feel a little hazy. A blissful numbness that you bask in.

Bucky leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. A couple strands of hair fall free from his tie and shield his eyes. “Do you hate me?”

The question catches you off guard. Makes you actually look at him for longer than a glance. Your thumb skates around the ring of the bottle and you take another long swig.

“I did. God knows I still could.” Your phrasing makes him lift his head and look at you, a glimmer of hope flashes in his baby blues. You purse your lips and give a one shouldered shrug. “Now I nothing you.”

It was a lie. You knew it. You don’t love him, but you don’t hate him either. You care, despite wishing not to, but he doesn’t have to know that. Your poker face was convincing enough to to make him believe the words. It shows on his expression. Like he took a blow to the chest.

You should let it lie at that. Retire to your respective room and try to get some shuteye before daybreak.

But you’re curious.

“Why do you care?” You rasp, eyes unyielding. “You sure didn’t worry about me hating you when you dumped me. I’m sure I wasn’t a thought that crossed your mind when you started fucking that slut. You didn’t have any regard for my feelings when you flaunted her around.”

Your voice wavers. You close your eyes and lean your head back, cursing under your breath.

Bucky clears his throat and curls his hair over his ear. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—“

“Fuck that.” The words are exclaimed louder than you intend. “I don’t want your apologies. Don’t want your fucking pity.”

“What do you want?”

His question is genuine and his features are soft.

The glass bottle of vodka clinks against the surface of the table as you set it down and rise to your feet.

“What do I want?” A chuckle escapes through your query. You can feel his eyes follow you as you pace back and forth. “I want you to hurt like I’ve hurt. Want the pain to be too much for you to bare. Want it to cocoon inside of your chest and keep you up at night so that you’re forced to be aware of the emptiness in your heart and in your bed. But your bed isn’t empty, is it?” He doesn’t reply. You kneel between his legs and look up at him. He’s surprised by the sudden closeness in proximity. It’s almost unsettling to him. “You really wanna do something for me me, James?”

His mouth is ajar. He’s speechless, but inquisitive. He blinks slowly, searching for a sign of the answer you’re looking for.

“Cry for me.”

He’s stunned. You’re amused.

“Yeah. Cry for me. A moment at your expense. Show me that I’m not the only one who actually gave a shit about us. That I meant something to you.” Silence. “Nothing? Not one tear? Can’t even pretend to feel something?”

Bucky swallows the lump in his throat. You can hear the gears turning in his head. See the inner conflict in his expression.

You huff, shaking your head and forcing a smile as you rise to your feet and turn toward your bedroom. “Don’t drink too much. We head to Ibiza at 7.”

—

The sun is unforgiving even in November. Sweat cascades between the valley of your breasts and you undo a few buttons on your blouse just to tolerate the heat. You’re on the ground level, staking out the hotel your target was last seen. Clad in a cream colored jumpsuit to blend in.

Bucky’s on the roof of the building across the street, peering through the scope with his index finger on the trigger on his rifle.

“Do you have eyes on Alverez?” You murmur behind your coffee cup, pushing your sunglasses up the bridge of your nose.

“No.” Bucky says through the small intercom in your ear. “Not a damn sign of him. Can’t even tell what floor he’s on. If he’s even here.”

“Oh, he’s here. I recognize his goons.” A heavy sigh rattles in your chest. “We have to act fast. If we wait too long, he’ll flee and this whole trip will have been for nothing.”

“Be patient. You strike too soon and you’ll blow your cover.” He argues.

Your jaw clenches and you purse your lips. Three well dressed men in three piece suits catch your attention as they walk up the grand stairway in the lobby. They’re your guide. A grin spreads across your face and you leave the small around table you’d been sitting at.

“When have you ever known me to be patient?” Your heels click on the marble floor until the sound is muted on the velvet carpeting. “Watch my six.”

“What are you doing? Where are you going?” There’s slight panic in his voice. His breath is labored through the earpiece. “Don’t be stupid. J-Just wait until I have eyes on him. You don’t know if he’s alone.” He tries to bargain.

His subtle pleas don’t halt your advances. “Then you better cover my ass.”

You hear him exclaim your name before you remove the speaker from your ear.

—

“Do you know how fucking stupid that was? Are you aware that you could’ve died? That I could be carrying your corpse back to the team? To our friends?”

Bucky’s been lecturing you for the last two hours on your flight back to Spain. You didn’t notice. Or, you just didn’t care. You were strung out on a high from completing the mission.

Blood and bile stained your clothes and flesh. Adrenaline had blinded you. You were only armored with a knife and your combat skills. Bucky had assisted where he could. He took out one of the hitmen. The only one in his line of sight. You had taken out three men, and then your target. It was a bloodbath. It was fulfilling. It was gratifying.

Theres a slight twinge of pain in your left side. You only feel it when you move. Probably got slashed in the fight. It doesn’t stop you from having a little extra pep in your step as you stride down the hallway to the apartment. Bucky closes the door with more force than necessary. The slam rattles the windows and he continues to drone on, whining about how Steve would have his head if something had happened to you.

“You’re deflecting, James.” You say in a sing-song voice. “I don’t know, nor care why. But why don’t you shut your mouth and celebrate a job well done.” You toss a bottle of Johnnie Walker to him and laugh behind the lip of the Grey Goose bottle in your hand when he nearly drops it. “Drink up, buttercup. We’re going home tomorrow. I’m sure you miss… Whatever the fuck her name is.”

Bucky furrows his brows and holds the Scotch tightly in his hand. “Is that what that whole thing was about?” He watches you take a few gulps and mirror his expression, confusion and annoyance written across your face. “You threw yourself into a suicide mission because of her? B-Because of me?”

“For fucks sake,” You roll your eyes and huff, closing the distance between your bodies. “Don’t flatter yourself. My actions had nothing to do with you. I did my job and I did it damn well. Why can’t you admit that instead of chastising me?”

“Because I can’t get the image of you dying out of my head, goddamn it!” Bucky exclaims, slamming the scotch on the counter behind you, making you back into the marbled edge and caging you in. “They could’ve taken you. Could’ve tortured you for the fun of it. T-They could have slit your throat while all I could do was sit there and watch.”

His voice cracks a little. You haven’t seen him this vulnerable in a long time. But it’s short-lived. He clenches his jaw and it bulges through his skin. His expression becomes hard and cold.

“If you weren’t so reckless. So damn careless.” He snarls, gaining volume with each word. “You’re a lot of things, but I never knew you were so stupid—“

Your hand slapping his cheek stuns him. The sound echos around the otherwise quiet room. Your stare is unbreaking and Bucky looks down at you with wide eyes. Can feel his breath on your face.

Then his mouth is on yours.

He kisses you hard, but there’s meaning behind it. Desperation.

It takes a moment for you to come to your senses. You pull away, slap his other cheek harder than before, and push him backwards. His body thuds against the door and he breathes heavily. Head hung, mouth gaped, looking at you through the curtain of his hair.

You taste him on your tongue when you lick over your lips. Your mind is racing a mile a minute until your thoughts halt. You look at him, purse your lips and shake your head.

“Fuck it.”

You’re on him in an instant.

He lifts you effortlessly and your fingers knot in his hair, tugging his head back and claiming control. The kiss his messy. Tongues and teeth, licking flames and biting flesh.

You feel dizzy and your body tingles as his hands roam over you. When he carries you in the direction of you room, you pull away.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

His brows knit in the middle and he looks at you with almost innocent eyes. “Bedroom?”

You shake your head no. “Too intimate. No bed, no couch.” Taking a second to look around the loft, you nod in the direction of the console table against the wall that separates the two bedrooms. “There.”

He places you on top of the firm surface, immediately going for your neck and sucking bruises onto your skin. Your hands busy themselves with removing his tac suit. He smells like sweat and leather. Tastes like salt and lavender. His skin feels familiar beneath your fingertips. Smooth and rough. They know each scar and the story behind them.

Your teeth sink into his bottom lip and you laugh against his mouth from his reaction. He shivers and hardens his grip on your hips before his hands strip you of your clothes.

“You act like you haven’t gotten it good in quite some time.” You tease, pushing his briefs down and taking his erection in your hand, pumping him at an agonizingly slow pace. “What’s the matter, James? She doesn’t touch you like I do? Doesn’t know each and every weakness you have? Can’t fuck you like I can?”

Bucky enters your swiftly and you claw at his back, leaving marks on his flesh that rise in anger from your nails. He doesn’t answer any of your questions, but he doesn’t have to. You know the answer, and his refusal to confirm will have to be enough. For now.

He fucks you hard.

He’s slick with your arousal and the sound of skin slapping against skin is obscene. Your legs wrap around his waist and you take him deeper, grinning with pride when he groans from deep within his chest.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” You hear him mumble into your shoulder as he mouths against the curve to your neck.

You know he means it. Because you feel the same way. He’s familiar. He knows what moves to pull when to make you shudder. He knows how to edge you and taunt you with the pleasant threat of orgasm without just handing it to you.

You owe this to yourself.

All those months of crying and wallowing in pain. Tear stained pillowcases and sleepless nights. Three years down the drain. This is your consolation prize.

He’s done for when you move your hips against him. One of your hands holds onto the edge of the table to stabilize yourself while the other grips the back of his neck. Your core clenches, chokes his cock in the sweet, wet heat of you.

You emit a sharp yelp when he touches your clit with his left hand. Metal as cold as ice against your heated body makes you cum fast and hard. He fills you after a couple more deep thrusts, holding onto you as your bodies writhe.

Then everything goes still.

Silent.

Labored breaths calm and you shiver the longer Bucky looks down at you. He steps back when you gently push him away from you. Bite your tongue to keep from whimpering when he falls from your cunt, his cum starting to seep out from between your legs.

You weave passed him to your room and head straight for the shower, not bothering to close any doors behind you.

Steam rolls over the top of the shower and you step inside, inhaling through your nose and exhaling from your mouth. The warmth of the water calms you. In that instant, your heart stops breaking.

It’s far from whole, but it’s a start.

To be continued…

I’d appreciate some feedback on this, please!


End file.
